


Nor the Moon by Night

by deanwillrise



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon Dean, M/M, Season/Series 10, Violence, supernatural s10
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-02 07:07:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2803922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deanwillrise/pseuds/deanwillrise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Well guess what? He’s dead too.”</p><p>Those words, dripping with venom and self-satisfaction, ooze from the blasphemous storyteller's mouth. Simultaneously too much and impossible, when Castiel comes to the sick realization that the familiar curls of Dean's soul are out of reach, he can feel his reality shifting. </p><p>With Metatron in jail, Sam and Castiel both gravitate to Dean's empty room, and find purpose in that discovery.<br/>Dean is alive, and they will find him.</p><p>*Updates Fridays*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

            Heavy and angry, the air rings in Castiel’s ears as his wrists feel the cool kiss of metal. They are wrenched into a sick embrace, trapped to the arms of Metatron’s chair and the world feels as if it was thrown off kilter. The air turned slow and suffocating, every unnecessary breath wheezes as if it were crushed from his lungs. In the back of his mind, there’s a feeble nudge, but those words drown its herald. Clumsy and weighted, vicious words never meant to find breath suddenly scream their existence, and the grip that seizes his vessel is far stronger than any of Metatron’s tricks. Clear as a bell.

“Well guess what? He’s dead too.”

 

           Since the dawn of time, Angels have earned their name as God’s perfect warriors. Their awesome power echoes as they smite, hangs like drapes over fearsome wings as they deliver absolution. Strong. Impervious. And yet, the day Castiel was ordered to raise the Righteous Man, something _strange_ had occurred. His being had felt something. It was an odd sensation, if not for the fact that he could feel it at all, then, in hindsight, for its eerily prescient nature. The ground beneath him seemed to have shifted, as if a train had moved tracks too quickly. But when Castiel looked upon his Brother, he appeared un-phased, simply continued his instruction as if the world had not reshaped itself beneath them. With hindsight, Castiel understands. That day held importance beyond the fulfillment of orders. The day he met Dean Winchester, the day he raised him from the pit, was the day Castiel ceased to do, and started to be.

 

          His existence was different after that day. A millennia consumed by watchful, peaceful meditation, became days filled with questions, with humanity, and the barely death-defying antics of his newfound charges. Slowly, Castiel became Cas, and the Righteous Man was so much more once he was Dean. Cracks formed along the seams of what Castiel once knew as himself. He rose. No longer impervious, yet an angel still, he soared to giddy heights. The moment he received his orders to venture into Hell, to raise the Righteous Man, everything had been about the Winchesters, his friends, his... His existence was introduced to choice and thought, to Dean. Which is why the words spat from the mouth of the blasphemous storyteller, oozing venom and self-satisfaction, could not be true. The spikes they drove into his mind, the fear welling from their impressions’ depths, unnecessary. Except…

No

        Straining the last manifestations of the stolen grace, Castiel cannot feel the warm curls of Dean’s familiar soul. An unfamiliar sensation bubbled from the depths of his chest. Far from invulnerable, far from the strength he had once known, Castiel’s breath caught as he crashed. The air was, wrong, too heavy, too bitter for his vessel’s lungs. What little broke through stung. Though he never had the dubious pleasure to experience it, Castiel realizes this must be what it’s like to drown. As he struggled for breath, for anything to grip that might save him from the overwhelming something, time slowed and Castiel felt as if he had been wrenched from the sky once more. He could feel, for the second time in his existence, the universe, his reality, shifting.

 

* * *

 

        

         As Sam walked through the bunker, each step was laced with guilt. He had lied. There's no way Dean... he _couldn't_ have believed him when he said he wouldn't do the same, wouldn't risk anything to save him... His hands shook harder with the realization that it didn't matter anymore. Dean was gone. And no matter how many times it's happened before, the dark thoughts creep in, that this is it. Game Over. Bad luck, good luck, whatever it was that kept pulling them back, playing their lives like puppets in a sick charade, it can't keep happening. There's gotta be some sort of limit, and Sam has no clue how they haven't already broke it five times over.

He lay Dean down on his bed, figured he would've wanted to come back, at least... one more time. All he could think about, sitting in that damned room, was the goofy ass grin that had played on Dean's face when he told Sam the mattress "remembered him". G-d, he'd... Dean'd been so damned pleased to finally have a home, it's just... He could feel the knot in his throat rise as the first tears fell. And if he sat there, feeling no older than twelve and lost, waiting for his big brother to ground him, tell him "Everything'll be alright Sammy"... no one would know.


	2. Chapter 2

Castiel knows less of Sam Winchester than he does his brother. Sam had been a fixture, a problem, a goal, and a source of guilt long before he had been a friend. But if there’s one thing Castiel would say he knows for certain of Sam, it’s that his summons never bode well.

           The Roadhouse was where Castiel had first heard Sam’s call, his voice pulling attention away from a confused Ellen and boisterous Ash. He felt guilt as he pushed Sam aside, listening instead to Bobby, who insisted that, wherever Dean’s heaven is, it “ain’t here”. Determined, Castiel instructed them to notify him should Dean appear, swallowed roughly at Ellen’s

“You find him, you hear? And take care of the both of you”, and tried to ignore the well of tears that caused her eyes to glimmer.

            The next place Castiel ventured was so soft, seemed so fragile that for one moment of delirium, he almost tried to shush Sam. Castiel felt like an intruder in this world. The sunshine playing gently with the easy, swaying curtains, the sweet scents of cherry pie wafting in from the kitchen where he could hear the words “Hey Jude” being sung, their notes dancing around a toddler’s giggles. No, it seemed the only Dean that Mary Winchester had seen lately was from years ago. Castiel slipped away quietly, not wanting to rock the peace Mary had finally found.

            As the possibilities became exhausted so too did Castiel. Each heaven he flung himself towards held fewer answers than the last, and the weight of Sam’s calls dragged him further. Even if pressured, Castiel wouldn’t be able to put to words why he couldn’t face Sam, not yet, not without letting him know that Dean was at peace. The apprehension and the sorrow and the burning, there was no other word for it, _burning_ guilt that seared through him muffled Sam’s calls which slowly turned from plaintive to angry and confused. He wanted answers and action that Castiel did not have and could not give, and Castiel thinks for a moment that he might be afraid.

            It wasn’t until Castiel reached an empty field, surrounded by trees and what looked to be … ammunition? No, _sparklers,_ all laid out on the ground, waiting to be used, that something changed. Sam’s words became choked by panic, rushing in on Castiel like terrible waves. This was not the voice of a man in mourning. Sorrowful pleas became fretful summons that Castiel could not avoid. Jaw set, Castiel sped to the bunker. Heart hammering at the thought of what could worry Sam Winchester so fiercely; he hoped he hadn’t failed another Winchester.


	3. Chapter 3

         Castiel’s search for Sam began the second he stumbled on the bunker’s floor, grace exhausted and deliriously panicked. His frantic dance was accompanied by the harsh crunch of glass already shattered, and loud bangs of doors being flung open. When he heard what was unmistakably a body being thrown, his feet followed the noise before he has the chance to comprehend the action. As he rounded the corner, towards Dean’s room, he could see a leg flung through the doorway and a thin trail of blood pooled around it, a ribbon to garnish the sick present.

         “Sam?!” His yell comes out chocked and broken as he runs faster, anxious heartbeat rippling in his throat as he runs. When he stumbles to a stop he struggles to catalogue everything before him. Sam, alive. Thrown to the ground, and clutching his shoulder, blood dripping from a slight gash at his forehead, staring up with horrified relief at ... _Dean_. Castiel can feel his knees weaken; as if his body’s first instinct is to collapse onto its knees and throw his thanks into the air so his father and all his kin can hear. His lips tremble as the word skips from him, pulled thin and weakened and _oh so thankful,_ “Dean?”.

         “No. Cas no, that’s not”… But Castiel doesn’t need to hear the rest of the pained words that barely escape Sam. He is not yet fallen, though his vision is failing him more each day, becoming more human, he still knows the cruel tendrils that dance around Dean’s form. No more the loyal soul, steadily casting light upon those around him, Dean is now surrounded by pitch, noxious curls, pure hate and greed that belay the smirk on his face.

        “Heya Cas!” He spreads his arms as wide as the sick grin stretching his face, First Blade in hand, “glad you could join the party!” Castiel knows his hands are shaking, knows he looks helpless in front of what he can only assume is an enemy as Sam struggles to right himself and Dean swaggers forward, all deliberate bravado and smirking arrogance.

         “Get out of my brother you son of a bitch!” Sam’s roar breaks the horrified trance; tears his disbelieving eyes off of the approaching Dean so he can look upon the brother. Sam’s face, pale and still waning, sprinkled with blood and the tracks of anguished teardrops, is contorting with rage as he struggles to stand once more. Ruby’s knife in hand, he pulls himself up by the wall, and Castiel could slap himself for his uselessness. He makes the three-step journey to Sam’s side in an instant, angel blade falling from his sleeve as he resolves to rid Dean’s body of this demon. He owes the brothers that at least.

         But as he raises his blade, he’s greeted not by its kin, but a low chuckle. It’s wrong, it’s _perverse_ , hearing that sound drop from Dean’s lips, so similar to a well-loved noise but twisted, so that it’s more growl than joyful, predatory and dark. The demon in Dean’s body continues to laugh, more focused on picking at his undersides of his nails with his blade, than on the two opponents before him. When he does look up, it’s sly and coy, eyes hiding a painful secret he’d gleefully impart with all the care of a hand grenade.

         “Aw this is too good. Sammy and the baby bluebird, ready to defend poor dead Dean’s last shred of honor. Well fellas, I hate to break it to ya, but I _am_ Dean. Couple of modifications, obviously, got rid of a few things I don’t need, but it’s all me” he intones, smug and satisfied.

         Castiel’s eyes narrow as he growls, “You’re lying”, but his words are only drowned out by Sam’s barked “Prove it!”

         Smirk still firmly in place, the Dean in front of them placidly drawls, “If we ever got separated, we’d go to the first motel in the phonebook and wait for the other to show up”, last words highlighted by a nonchalant shrug, barbed with malicious intent. Castiel can only glance quickly to Sam, focused on the demon, should it make any sudden movements, but he can see Sam’s jaw clench as he grips Ruby’s blade more forcefully. He takes a moment, eyes blocking out the world around him, until he pitches back,

“That’s an easy one, you could’ve gotten that from Detective Ballard, hell, you could’ve been listening back then!” 

        The demon’s eyes glint before it sighs theatrically. “Aw common Sammy, you gonna make me run through all of em before you believe me?” When Sam continues to glare, unmoved, the demon starts listing, “Poughkeepsie: drop everything and run, Funky town: there’s a gun at my head, Five-o: I got caught, get the hell out”, he ticks each finger he uses to count with the blade, one by one they hit Sam like bullets. “I mean, come on Sammy. It’s me, alright?!”

         Sam refused to look at Dean’s face, as his sick dread slowly turns to horrible realization. Horse and croaky, he asks “What-What’s the combination to the Impala’s compartment?” It’s when the demon spits out “11-2-83”, plain faced and uncaring, that Sam’s worn face crumples, a house finally collapsing to howling fire, and Castiel knows it’s the truth.

         “How?” the question comes from him before Castiel can realize he’s about to speak. “How is that possible?” His fingers are numb, only the cool touch of the blade in his palm grounds him. “How could you possibly be a demon?”.

         “Let’s just say I have friends in, uh, low places”.

         “Fuck” the word was carried by only the lightest of breath, Castiel almost missed it, but as he turns to Sam, sees his shaking hand running through his hair, pushing it from his face, it’s repeated. “Fuck, fuck, FUCK! CROWLEY!”. Sam slams his fist to his thigh as Dean chuckles once more.

         “Well, so much for subtlety”.

         “I don’t ... understand.” Castiel’s eyes narrow once more as he looks from on brother to the other, “what…”

         “You,” Sam tries to swallow down the panic and fresh waves of guilt. “You weren’t answering and I was so mad and freaked out and, I panicked. I tried to summon Crowley, told him to help Dean, but I thought he didn't show, I didn’t- I couldn’t have…” He broke off, and if Castiel was channeling a bit more angel, he’d wonder at the fact that someone could possibly look as broken as he feels.

         “Yeah, yeah, we get it Sammy. You just can’t get around to anything without fucking it up. Poor you, we’ll just add me to the list with Mom and Jess and call it even”. Dean’s words dripped malicious, like honeyed thorns, layered and meant to hurt, and if the chocked off gasp from Castiel’s right meant anything, they had hit their mark. “But I’m getting bored here fellas, so let’s cut to the chase. “I” he said, pointing the blade to his chest, “am going to leave here today, and you” he gestured towards them indifferently, “are going to **back off** ”. The last words swept through the room like a chill, Castiel could feel the hairs on his arm raise. “I mean it. I know you two. Always trying to fix things, always fucking it up in the end and coming to whine at me”, his voice turned high and simpering as he pouted his lips and bat his lashes, “‘Deannn help me’, ‘Deann I broke the gate to hell’, ‘Deannn I broke the world’. Guess what fellas? I’m done.” He swept his hands as if clearing a table, “It’s time for you two to grow a pair and keep on keeping on.”

         “Dean. Stop.” Castiel stepped forward, hand slashing the air as if that would clear it of the words with which it was just polluted. “This isn’t you. We can fix this”.

         “Aw, poor Cas” Dean simpered again, “you don’t get it yet? There’s **nothing to fix**!” His smile turned feral as he swept at the air and sent Castiel flying into the wall, head cracking on impact. “I’ve never felt better,” he said with arms outstretched, looking from Castiel on the floor to Sam, defeated. “You know, it took me a long fucking time to realize this, but now? I get it. All that shit with dad, it messed with my head,” he pointed to it with the blade, tapping as he grinned with the face of an enlightened man. “Look after Sammy, watch him, save that person, save the fucking world! It was always.on. **me**.” he bellowed. “Well you know what? I’m tired of it. Tired of sticking around, tired of losing people, and being left. It took turning into a fucking demon, for me to finally get it. This is me. I’m not gonna be looking after my screw up of a little brother and a broken angel for the rest of my life. I’m free, and I’m getting the hell out. Find someone else to fight your battles, and if you know what’s good for you? Stay outta my way”.

         And with one more blow at Sam after he'd made an aborted movement, Dean made his way to the door. Looking over his shoulder with a roughish wink at Cas, he drawled, “See ya, angel”. Eyes flashing black, he disappeared.


	4. Chapter 4

         A fragile silence descended on the bunker after Dean’s abrupt departure. Cas and Sam entered a tentative dance around one another, nursing their respective wounds, wary to address the elephant in the room. Cas, lost, offered to help Sam with the wound now sluggishly dripping on his brow, but all Sam could manage was a brief grimace as he wiped the blood off with his shirtsleeve. Feeling a pull of sympathy for the way Cas looked around, arms flapping at his sides helplessly, Sam held out his hand, silently allowing Cas to help pull him up. Still clutching at his injured shoulder, he rolled it carefully as he looked around the room and sighed.

         “Well Cas,” his pained smile doing nothing to offset the look in his eyes, “I guess it’s time you taught me more about the Mark”.

* * *

 

         Sitting in the War Room, laptop out, across from Cas, let Sam regain a small amount of normalcy. It was easier in a way to treat this like a case, to treat Dean like a problem to be solved. If he detached himself, some of the hurt rescinded, and he gained a purpose. John had taught him that much, at least. 

         “Alright, so I’ve started up some contact trees, getting people on the lookout for Dean. We’ve gotta be careful who we ask though. No one who’d know him well enough to go talk to him, word can’t get out that Dean’s a demon now, or it’ll start a full out hunt. I also talked to Charlie, asked her to sneak into some CCTV services, traffic cameras, the whole deal. So now all we gotta do is… Cas?” Sam ducks his head, trying to catch the angel’s eye, “Hey, are you listening, or…?” Snapped from his absent gaze, Cas returns his focus to Sam’s pinched features, finding concern and worry lying in the deepening creases.

         “I… apologize, Sam,” he knows he finds it too easy to tear his gaze from Sam’s to look down at his own hands, splayed in his lap. “These past few days have been… disconcerting. But I know you must be feeling the same, I’m sorry.”

        “Hey, it’s ok. I get it”. Dean often remarked upon Sam’s ability to execute “puppy eyes”, but until this moment, Castiel hadn’t understood what that meant. Sam’s eyes seemed to have doubled in size as he placed a hand to his chest, head shaking softly. “This is rough. But right now, it’s in our best interests, _Dean_ ’s best interests, to track him down before he does something he regrets”. Castiel runs his palm across his eyes, pursing his lips before he sits up straighter.

         “You’re right”, he breathes, “What exactly did you mean when you said you’d called Crowley?”. Sam sighs as he starts to explain.

* * *

 

         “Damnit!”

         “Sam, it’s only been a week, we can’t expect-”

         “Cas, we’ve used everything, everything I got! I’ve got feelers out across the country, and no one’s seen so much of a _picture_ of Dean.”

         The delicate optimism that had surrounded the bunker as the two had started to strategize had all but shattered over the course of the week. Now instead the looming realization that this Dean didn’t want to be found, and was damn good at covering his tracks, festered. The tables of the War Room, once covered only by the occasional loose paper, were quickly changing topography. Whiskey bottles, drained of their contents lay about like wreckage, and the errant pillow sat tucked away on the chairs like dirty secrets,  Castiel's pillow-creased face in the mornings explaining their purpose, communicating without the words Castiel refused to voice. . With each exhausted possibility, the strain grew on Sam’s face, threatening to snap, as Cas’ shoulders slope heavier, pulled by the weight of their failure.

         Sam collapsed into a chair, his long legs propped up haphazardly on the table, pushing bottles in their wake. “I just, I don’t know what to do, Cas”. And despite how he addressed the comment, Castiel knew it wasn’t meant for him. Sighing, Cas started to clear the detritus.

         “Perhaps it’s time we re-evaluate our strategy. Dean is taking great pains not to be found. Perhaps, instead of trying to find where he is already, it’s time we act more proactively. We can start by anticipating where he is likely to go and developing new contacts there.”

         “Alright,” Sam breathes, rubbing his palms, “alright Cas. If it’s a roadtrip you want, it’s a roadtrip you’re gonna get.”

         They split up, start to gather all the odds and ends they’ll need on the road. On his way to the room he’d claimed for himself, Castiel staggers. Hand braced against the wall, he watches as a wisp of ethereal blue escapes his lips, dances in front of his eyes brazenly, tauntingly, before evaporating into non-existance. Shaken, Castiel pushes himself from the wall. But the dwindling grace does nothing to dampen resolve. If anything, it gives him as much purpose as Dean’s empty room.

         They load the Impala, steadily ignoring the weighted absence between them. Sam’s flip of the keys pull the impala’s growl to life, accompaniment to Billy Squire’s background crooning. Sam’s huff of cut-off laughter is met by a soft smile. This they can handle. It’s time they hit the road.


	5. Chapter 5

I'mmm a butt. Between getting sick this week and re-writing this chapter about five times, there was no way I'd get you guys something decent on the 16, so I apologize for the delay. After mapping out the future of this fic, I'd say it's possible I might start a bi-weekly update Tuesday/Friday, but for now, I'll just promise to have something out every Friday. And yeah! I hope you guys are liking the story so far! Take care until potentially-Tueday-definitely-Friday!


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